Dystopia
by Jazzola
Summary: DCI Litton doesn't know what's happened. He is being hunted down and Gene Hunt is in hospital of his doing. And yet he never meant to pull the trigger. Can Litton clear his name, with some help from Alex Drake- and Gene himself? Lots of Galex involved.
1. Chapter 1

_He is walking into CID, the gloomy bunker-style office filled with men celebrating solving their latest case. In the middle of the kerfuffle is Gene Hunt, king of the jungle with his servants around him, sat back with a smug look on his face and a large bottle of amber whisky on the desk next to him. DS Ray Carling, smoking like a chimney next to him, is relaxing against the desk, grinning as Gene makes some smutty comment to him and directing his look of superiority to DI Sam Tyler, sat just behind Gene, a cup in his hand and leaning back, giving DS Carling a look of scathing as the men trap each other in malevolent glares before looking back as the door bangs shut to mark the arrival of him and his squad._

_Gene's eyes narrow, the long lashes almost trapping each other as he sits back and addressed him._

"_You want a drink, Litton? 'Fraid we 'aven't got any Babycham."_

_The gag has the desired effect; he feels a little irritation of anger in his gut at the mocking looks from Gene's department._

"_You knew those shooters were the real deal?"_

_His voice almost betrays the shock and irritation that he feels, but like every good copper he keeps it just about in check. Gene gives half a smirk, almost a lifetime goal for a man who smiles so little._

"_Bloody 'ell, you really ARE a detective."_

_He opens his mouth to retaliate, his brain trying to cook up a retort that will have Gene speechless and his team avoiding his own's triumphant gazes. His eye is caught just as the start of something comes into his head, and he averts his line of sight to see a picture of himself in the newspaper on the wall next to Gene, with a crudely-drawn penis on his head and large misshapen breasts adhering to his chest._

_His chest swells with indignation, the comeback line gone with his anger at the picture._

"_That's very good…"_

_One slender, work-worn finger points to the picture, annoyance spreading over his face as Gene and his team turn, take in the picture and turn back with looks of mild amusement on their faces._

"_When are you going to get it into your thick skulls that armed blags are mine?"_

_His vexation is nearing boiling point as Gene leans forwards, his own face showing anger._

"_D'you mind? I nearly 'ad me brains blown out tonight!"_

"_Oh, would you 'ave noticed?"_

_The team behind him chuckle. Gene, his eyes still fixed on him, takes a swig from his cup of whisky, feigning disinterest but keeping the contest still engaged._

"_If they were goin' for 'eavy blood loss, Gene, they should've shot you in the gut."_

_Gene, resentment now clear on his face, stands up sharply, sliding the cup onto the table, approaching his opponent. The two men approach each other, Gene's body squaring up for a fight, Litton's doing much the same but knowing his team are behind him._

"_Hey. Mr Litton."_

_The new DI speaks up, still standing next to his chair, making no move to advance on him, calm as you please. He feels another surge of displeasure in his stomach._

"_I think you'd better swallow it down."_

_He pauses, an almost boastful look on his face as he lifts his cup, mockingly toasting his team's adversaries._

"_We 'ad a result. One-nil."_

_His chest fires up in a tidal wave of badly-suppressed anger as the team start chanting "one-nil, one-nil" at him, growing louder each time, grins appearing, his own team beginning to back down from the fight._

_It's when one of the DCs steps forwards that he snaps._

_And then he's fighting, punching, grabbing a telephone from a desk and using it as a weapon before the "bang" of being taken down by Gene and Sam reverberates through his head…_

_And now he's on the street, near the Railway Arms, watching Ray Carling stagger off towards his house and boding Gene goodnight (well, morning now), Gene turning away and just nodding in his DS's direction, turning to make his own way home, his step even and careful, not a stumbling wreck like Ray's._

_His fingers, not under his control, find the pistol lodged in his jacket._

_It's out and fired before he can realise what he's doing._

_Gene crumples in the middle of the street; blood begins soaking from his stomach, creating a pool of sombre scarlet liquid, illuminated gruesomely by the street lamp above the injured DCI. Ray turns, a yelp of fright escaping from his mouth as he sprints to Gene, lifting him slightly off the pavement, gritting his teeth as Gene manages to squeeze his hand lightly, his consciousness ebbing away as his life pours from his punctured body…_

_And then he's pouring himself through his door, banging against the wall and falling into it, his body making harsh contact with the cool surface of the smooth paintwork._

_It's then that he realises that this isn't a dream anymore._

"AHHH!"

Litton screams as he looks down at the discharged gun in his fingers, still bearing the traces of smoke, the barrel warm.

"I… I…"

Litton reaches up to feel his strangely heavy eyes. His fingers make contact with clumps of sleep around his eyes; travelling down, he is wearing his pyjamas and his jacket, bare feet stinging from running across the rough tarmac.

Realising what has happened, he rushes upstairs to get dressed, avoiding the bedroom in which his wife is sleeping peacefully and blessing the thick walls in his head as he grabs the clothes he was wearing today and pulls them on, not bothering to sort out his messy hair or the creases in the clothing. His appearance is no longer an issue; he has to get to the hospital, find out what he has done.

The car journey has never seemed longer. Every small delay flings him into mindless rage, and then once again cold dread and guild; by the time he parks haphazardly outside the hospital he is basted in cold sweat, his shirt soaked at the back and the armpits.

"Gene Hunt," he tells the reception desk. The woman escorts him through herself, her fingers brushing a cumbersome fringe from her eyes as she beckons to the door and goes back to the desk, her high heels echoing in his ears, the sound seeming to broaden and increase in volume, each one becoming the explosion of a bullet soaring from a gun…

His hand opens the door slowly.

Ray is there, his whole body hunched over, his eyes fixed on his Guv. Litton advances slowly, taking in the scene before him; Gene motionless, hooked up to all manner of machines, a tube making its way into his mouth, its only purpose to keep him breathing and his heart beating with a fresh supply of oxygen, a bandage coating his stomach, the only motion of his body the struggling rise and fall of his chest.

Bile rises in Litton's throat as he approaches the bed; Ray turns and sees him, his eyes widening with surprise.

"Litton? What're you doin' 'ere? 'Ow'd you know about the Guv?"

Litton pauses.

"I 'eard the gunshot from my window; I got dressed and came straight 'ere. Gene's a fellow officer, 'owever much we might dislike each other."

Ray's eyes narrow as he takes in Litton's clothing, the fateful jacket, the creased and worn fabric under it.

"I got dressed in an 'urry," Litton simply says by way of explanation. Pulling a chair forwards, bending his head to hide the guilt in his eyes, Litton sits down, his eyes taking in Gene's closed ones, his peaceful face, crowded by the tube and almost hatefully expressionless, as though the soul that controlled the face had gone. Litton can't prevent the hard swallow that comes as he realises that all of this was his own doing. Even though he frequently hates him and is hated back by him, Gene is a good man and Litton has done this to him.

But was he in control at the time? Litton hadn't known what he was doing; not in a million years would he have done what he did knowingly. It was almost like it was a dream…

He'd been in his pyjamas.

He'd had bed hair and sleep in his eyes.

He'd had bare feet.

He'd not been in control of his actions.

What the hell had he been doing?

Litton stares down at the unconscious man lying in front of him, breathing shallowly, his normal trait of filling the room he is in gone, replaced by an almost shrunken shell of the great Manc Lion, the DCI.

This was his doing.

He was no better than the criminals he tried to catch himself.

Suppressing tears, Litton stands and makes his way outside, stopping dead when he is approached by DC Chris Skelton and DI Sam Tyler, both holding handcuffs, their warrant cards outstretched in front of them.

"Derek Litton, I am arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder…"

Litton takes one look at them and bolts.

His chest is churning with confusion and fright and the unsettled feeling you get when your world has crashed down around you. He runs blindly, like a wild animal, no real destination, just trying to get away from them, to preserve what he is left with after the act he never meant to commit…

And then he is lost, and he is alone, and he is a man with nothing left to hide and no knowledge of what has happened to himself.

* * *

A/N: So… what do people think about it? I thought Litton deserved a story at least. If I get enough people asking me to carry on with this, I will. Thanks for reading, and please please please, review! I'm begging you here. Jazzola :)


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting down on the corner of the pavement in a dark Mancunian alleyway, Litton slowly stops shaking. His hand is hurting from the recoil of the gun, what seems like only seconds ago. He must figure this out if he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison.

A new thought strikes him. He knows where he shot Gene. Right in the stomach. That could kill him, couldn't it? Litton can recall going to an incident where a man was shot in the stomach, like Gene, and he died. What if Gene dies and it's his fault, he pulled the trigger and sent Gene to his doom? Would he be able to live with himself? What would happen to him? He would spend his life in the very place he sends criminals to rot away in, the hell that was seen to be fit only for the dregs of society, the scum of the streets. He shudders at the very thought of the place, the echo of a cell door seeming to rebound in his ears, morphing into the bang of a bullet bursting forth from a police-issue pistol before he can stop it.

"No, no," he hisses to himself, covering his ears with his hands. He has to stop this before he drives himself crazy.

"What else is there to bloody do?" a corner of his mind hisses, but he ignores it and stands up, tucking his hands into his pockets and doing his best to look as though the world is smiling down on him instead of crushing him beneath a rain of blood-stained bullets, sinking deep into his stomach.

He has to keep going. One day, he will clear his name.

He takes a deep breath and starts walking.

* * *

Alex's fingers slowly play over the skin of Gene's lower stomach, stroking, caressing, gentle and eager at the same time. He is asleep next to her, his breathing soft, his delicately closed eyes giving him an incongruously boyish look; with his blond hair sneaking down to dangle quietly over his forehead, he looks ten years younger, relaxed and happy. Alex smiles at him, but the smile turns to a frown as she finds a rupture in the smooth skin, a puckered circular scar, just above his trouser line.

"What's that from?" she murmurs, mostly to herself, pressing her fingers to it. With a snort of pain, Gene shifts away from her, opening his eyes, his hand reaching down to take her fingers away from the site of his discomfort.

"Bloody 'ell, Bolls, at least wait until I'm awake to start proddin' around me!"

"Sorry… what is that, anyway?"

She points down to the little scar, glowing in the light from the bedside lamp. Gene's eyes find it, knowing what she is pointing at, having lived with it residing on his lower stomach for ten years.

"Bullet wound."

"When? Who? Why? How?"

Gene grins.

"Careful, Bolls. One question at a time!"

Alex laughs quietly, leaning down to rest her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him with half-closed eyes, her hand gently running over his arm as he rubs his stomach, taking away the pain from her prodding. Even after ten years, the site of the emergency operation to remove the bullet and prevent internal bleeding is still sore.

"1973. A fellow copper, DCI Litton. Dunno, he was never caught. With a police-issue pistol, when I was comin' out of the Railway Arms with Ray."

"Right in the stomach?"

Gene nods, the ghost of a sigh on his lips.

"'E's still on the run, Litton. They reckon 'e ran for Spain an' 'e's 'idin' there. Maybe 'e'll come back an' tell me why 'e decided to puncture me guts someday, but 'oo knows? I'm not bankin' on it. Besides, that all 'appened back in Manchester; I'm 'ere now, I've moved on."

He lies down next to Alex as he says this, pulling the duvet back up over his stomach and closing his eyes once again. Alex smiles at his rested, untroubled expression, but something about what he's said is still eating at her.

"Was there any real reason for him to shoot you?"

Gene opens his eyes tiredly, reaching out with one strong arm to pull Alex down to lie beside him.

"Ask me tomorrow. Does that brain o' yours ever take time off?"

"Nope," Alex murmurs back, sinking into his chest and using his soft skin as a moving pillow. The gentle movement soothes her as she drifts off, her thoughts still occupied by what Gene has told her but knowing that it's fruitless to dwell on it so late at night.

* * *

Ray is the first to beckon Gene and Alex in the following morning, his forehead creased in a foreboding frown and Chris avoiding Gene's gaze as Ray followed his DCI through into his office. Gene sits down calmly, knowing that something is happening and that it involves him.

Ray accepts a tumbler of whisky without comment, swigging it back, in no hurry to tell Gene the information Viv had passed on as soon as he had walked into CID that morning. Deciding to bite the bullet, he goes straight to the point:

"Guv, they've found Litton. DCI Litton, remember 'im?"

A very pregnant pause sets in: Ray is thinking of what happened back in Manchester on that fateful night, the memory of his badly injured boss gritting his teeth at the pain from his bleeding stomach and sliding into unconsciousness in his arms playing again in his mind's eye, Gene remembering the mind-splitting pain from the bullet and the worried faces of his DS and DI as he came round in hospital a few days later, Sam's forehead creased and his face almost entirely bloodless, and Alex recalling Gene's words from earlier that day, the feel of the smooth, puckered scar and the cool blemish shining in the dim light from the lamp.

"Pretty bloody clearly," Gene replies simply, slugging some more whisky back and putting the tumbler down, not letting his hands betray him by shaking. Alex purses her lips, letting Ray know with her eyes that she knows about this incident but not enough to properly pursue it.

"They're 'oldin' 'im up in Manchester, they want you to go up there to give a statement about what 'appened. Tyler an' 'er lot are takin' on the case. They want me to go as well, an' they said somethin' about usin' DI Tyler's statement in the investigation, but God knows whether they can use that since 'e's worm food."

Gene frowns for a second, his eyes following his finger as it traces a path on the tumbler, wiping at the fingerprints shining on the glass sheen as he thinks.

"What're they chargin' 'im with?"

"Attempted murder, I guess. Couldn't be attemptin' to kill a copper, you were off-duty when it 'appened."

Gene pauses, sensing more than seeing Alex moving to stand behind him, her hand smoothing over his shoulder blades as Ray turns away briefly to signal to Chris that he had told Gene.

"Be a good chance to catch up with Tyler, I s'pose," Gene says finally, leaning back a little and pouring some more whisky. Ray nods, turning away and putting the phone number for Manchester on the desk in front of Gene, knowing this will be a phone call he'll want to make himself.

Gene picks up the phone, Alex perching on the desk next to him and watching him intently, and dials the number for Manchester's police station.

"Hello. Is that DI Tyler? It's DCI Gene Hunt 'ere."

* * *

A/N: Hope you liked it! I thought I wanted to make this a Galex story after all, so there we go… please review! Thanks for reading. Jazzola :)


	3. Chapter 3

DI Tyler looks remarkably similar to how Sam described her in 1973; that is Alex's first thought as she climbs the steps to the GMP at Gene's side, the Quattro gently cooling behind them and fresh tyre marks on the tarmac beneath it. The car keys are still dangling from Gene's hand as Annie throws herself at him and hugs him tight, years of familiarity and jokes and friendliness conveyed in her actions but also a quiet sorrow for the loss they have both suffered. Even now, Annie's eyes show the sadness of years without Sam, raising their one child alone; the son Sam never knew he had. The boy himself, Sam Jr., is right behind his mother, a little shy at the tender age of four.

"Been too long, Guv- er, Gene," Annie beams, a little flustered; the habit of calling Gene "Guv" was not one easily broken. Gene smiles back, a rare curve of his pale lips.

"Yer goin' to introduce us to the sprog, then? Last time I saw 'im, 'e wasn't even out o' nappies."

"Yer don' need introducin'," Annie laughs, stepping sideways as a high-pitched cry of "Uncle Gene!" rings out and a small blur of messy brown hair and excitedness rushes forwards to hug Gene's knees. "'E always knows you, Gu- oops, Gene."

Gene, hobbled by the skinny arms fastened around his legs, just smiles and bends to unlatch the little boy, practically a carbon copy of his father, from him and hoist him up to rest on his shoulders, a lively look in his eyes as Sam crows with delight and puts his hands on Gene's forehead to steady himself, sliding them down to blind his carrier. Gene gently eases them off, but doing so unbalances the small boy and he has to submit to having a pair of hands over his eyes, as Sam protests when Annie tries to get him down and holds on harder when Gene tries to lift him off. Alex, although tempted to leave him in the car park and blinded by the boy to fend for himself, takes pity on him and Sam and takes his hand to guide him into the GMP. Gene, frowning, shifts her hand to hold onto his arm instead, and Alex smiles knowingly and pulls him forwards, laughing as Sam also issues imperious-sounding instructions on where to go from on high.

As she had thought, they make quite a stir arriving in: DI Tyler, female prodigy of Mancunian policing, the legendary Gene Hunt with her son on his shoulders and the child's hands over his eyes, and a pretty woman holding onto Gene's arm. Many people burst into laughter as Sam proclaims that he's "comfy on Uncle Gene's shoulders" and doesn't want to come down, but after some careful negotiating including a promise of a ride in the Quattro around the Manchester streets, settles for standing next to Gene. Annie, standing to one side as people crowd over to greet Gene and find out what's been happening down in London, takes the opportunity to get to know Alex.

"So, when did you two get together?"

It's a statement, not a question; Alex smiles as she realises there is no denying that they are a couple.

"A few months ago... an operation to lure one of London's major blaggers out so we could catch them. We had to hide in a bush and wait for the suspect, but while I was talking, doing a psycho-analysis of the suspect, Gene heard them coming and tried to shut me up. I hadn't heard them, and, being a little pig-headed after he'd embarrassed me in front of CID, carried on. Gene claims he could see no alternative other than to kiss me, but for whatever reason, he did so. We had to break off halfway through to go and arrest the suspect, and as soon as we were back in the station, I told him I wanted to carry on where we'd left off, he agreed and we kissed... just our luck that the entire of CID came in to see us snogging like teenagers in full view! Anyway, we scrammed out of there pretty quickly, and Gene claimed he couldn't drive the Quattro properly when he had a hard-on, so we hurried back to my flat and... sealed the agreement."

Annie's grin is enough to tell Alex that she approves.

"That's so sweet! After what 'appened wi' 'im an' Marie, 'e needed a good woman, someone to direct 'im..."

Alex cocks her head to one side, sensing there is more to come from Annie, but is interrupted by a booming voice from the stairs.

"DCI Gene Hunt and DI Alex Drake? I'm DCI Alan Hopwell."

The new DCI of the GMP descends down the stairs, a smile on his face at the sight of his predecessor, the legendary Manc Lion whose very name draws awe from those who hear it. Gene turns, breaking off from idle banter with one of his old DCs.

"Bloody 'ell... Alan!"

Alex smiles to herself as the man moves further into the light. The man could not be less imposing; his short frame and plump, round face, adorned with cherry-red cheeks and bright lips, make him look more like someone off a Toys 'R' Us advert (not that they exist yet). However, with his loud voice and hardened brown eyes, he just about qualifies as a DCI, and Alex reminds herself that she has yet to see him in action; that will come soon. Gene, however, seems to recognise him.

"Bolls, this is Alan Hopwell, we trained together. Alan, this is my DI, Alex Drake."

Alan shakes Alex's hand formally, his eyes finding the signs that she is Gene's and staying firmly on her face; whatever he might lack in terms of physical appearance, for being small, bald and rather plump is not a good look for a powerful DCI, Alan makes up for with common decency and friendliness. If she didn't know about his above average track record, or had not seen the work-toughened shine of his eyes or light lines on his face, Alex might have thought Alan was in the wrong job.

"Right then," Gene says, his eyes fixed on Alan, making sure he behaves around his partner. Alex brushes her hand against his, slightly endeared and slightly annoyed by his protectiveness; maybe it comes from difficult relationships beforehand, or maybe Alan is known to be a bit of a womaniser, but she doesn't need his protection to uphold her side of the bargain.

"Shall we get down to business?"

* * *

"I'm sure you know the drill, Gene. All you have to do is say what happened once I switch the tape recorder on. I'll be asking you questions, and at any time you're perfectly at liberty to say you don't remember; you were in a coma for two days, you can't be expected to recall everything. Are we ready? Good."

Alan's plump finger presses down on the record button and the tape whirs, signalling the start of the statement.

"Detective Chief Inspector Alan Hopwell, conducting an oral statement by Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt concerning his alleged attempted murder by Derek Litton on the 3rd April 1973. DCI Hunt, can you tell me exactly what happened on the morning of that day, when the shooting took place?"

Gene wets his lips, readying himself to speak. In the corner, Annie holds onto Sam Jr., her eyes on him but flicking occasionally to Gene and Alex, sitting together in the middle of the room. Alex's fingers steal onto Gene's hand as he begins to speak.

"I was comin' out o' the Railway Arms, just round the corner from the GMP, when I was shot. I only got one proper look at 'im, but I was sure it was Litton, Derek Litton, an' 'e was 'oldin' 'is police pistol, standin' there in 'is jacket an' pyjamas. The day before, I'd solved a case involvin' some stolen guns, an' 'e'd tried to earmark it as 'is case, but I solved it before him, wi' my team, so 'e was sore about that; 'e came into my department an' we 'ad a fight over it, in the end I knocked 'im out... wi' my DI."

For a second, Gene's voice falters. Alex strokes his arm; Alan motions for him to continue. Gene takes a deep breath and speaks again.

"'E came to see me in 'ospital, while I was unconscious, so I'm told by my team. 'E tried to make out 'e was innocent, but 'e was actin' suspicious, an' Ray- my DS- 'ad seen 'im too, when I was shot- 'e was standin' under a street lamp when 'e shot me- so 'e just signalled for the rest of my team to come in. 'E ran when they came in."

Alan nods.

"Did you receive any threats from Litton, anything other than colleague hostility?"

"Nothin'. I don' know why 'e'd throw 'is career away over an office fight 'e lost."

Alan checks his watch.

"Very well. Thank you, DCI Hunt. Statement officially given."

The same pudgy finger presses again; the tape dies down to a standstill. Alan takes it out, putting it in the in tray of the WPC in CID.

"That'll do nicely. Would you like to pay Litton a visit in the cells? You're perfectly within your rights to do so; you probably have some questions for him."

Gene, his eyes narrowed, nods once; Alex, recognising the bloodhound after the fox, gives a faint smile. She also has some carefully-worded questions for this man, as mental illness or poor mental health could have caused this, and without an assessment from someone who knew what they were doing, nobody would ever know if this was the case.

"Very well. We'll make our way down."

"Sam's not goin' anywhere near that man," Annie says, picking her son up and making her way towards the door; Sam, squirming in her arms, calls out for Gene. Gene's expression softens slightly.

"'Ow about we meet you downstairs after?"

Annie nods, letting Sam hurry over to her ex-DCI and fling his arms round his kneecaps one more time, a beam on his young face, so reminiscent of Sam's calm, tranquil smile. Gene pats the boy on the head, a little self-conscious in front of Alan, easing him off and handing him back to his mother after a reassurance that he would be back soon. Alex smiles at the little boy and chucks him under the chin, earning a smile from him.

Alan holds the door open for them, beckoning over his shoulder.

"Come on then, Gene. Let's go find some quality filth."

* * *

A/N: Please remember to review! I'm sorry for the delay, but my computer died and it had my word processor on, so I'm writing this on FF . net's document manager. Which is annoying. Ah well. Please review, as I missed Coppers for this! (And I have new sparkly boots... yeah, that's not really a reason to review. I just really like them.) Thanks for reading! Jazzola :)


	4. Chapter 4

Litton seems to have aged fifty years since Gene last saw him; his shrunken frame and meek demeanour tell of a man who has been running from himself as well as the world. His eyes find Gene's in the darkness of the little cell, a hand reaching out to press itself against the glass next to the grille, a muscle in his cheek twitching. Gene sits down uncertainly, his usual confidence drained by the presence of the person who shot him ten years ago, looking to Alex to speak first; Alex, feeling surprised at this, sits down and opens her mouth to speak.

"Mr Litton-"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Gene, I didn' mean ter do it, I wasn' doin' it myself- I don' know what 'appened, but I didn't shoot yer on purpose, yer 'ave to believe me!"

There is a silence so heavy it almost crushes the three people holed in the little room. Gene frowns, trying to work out what Litton means by "didn't shoot yer on purpose".

"Well, if yer shoot someone, yer generally mean ter."

Litton shakes his head, frenzied jerks of his neck displacing the scrubby dark hair framing his thin face. Alex leans forwards.

"Explain more, Mr Litton. I don't understand what you mean. You pulled the trigger on Gene, how could you have not meant to?"

Litton presses his hand harder against the glass; unknowingly, Gene flinches back from it. Litton's eyes grow cold.

"I was asleep, the 'ole time. I went 'ome, 'ad an evenin' wi' the missus, playin' cards an' readin', just like any ordinary day. An' then I went ter bed, an' suddenly I was out on the streets with my jacket an' my gun- an' it 'appened. Don' ask me! All I know is that I wouldn' throw my career out o' the window, my respect an' my honour, because of a stupid office fight. Yer know me, Gene, I wouldn' do somethin' like that! No matter 'ow much I 'ated you, I just wouldn' do that. I dunno what it was, but somehow I woke up, bein' still asleep, an' went out inter the street an' shot Gene, an' ran 'ome an' woke up fer real, an' then the rest yer lot know."

There is silence after Litton's outburst. Litton is panting with the exertion of his huge and desperate speech, clenching the fist that isn't squashed against the glass; Gene focuses on the floor, trying to work everything out in his head; Alex looks down at her lap, building the scenario up in her head, remembering something from her psychology degree about this kind of thing. Maybe Litton was dreaming about going out and having his revenge, and sleep-walked there? Anything is possible.

"Mr Litton-"

"Time's up."

The desk sergeant appears outside the room, opening the door and signalling for two officers to take Litton back to his cell, holding the door open for Gene and Alex. Alex swerves round, confusion on her face.

"We weren't done!"

"Sorry, DI Drake, orders from the Guv."

Briefly, Alex turns round to Gene, before remembering that he means a different Guv and twisting back round again.

"Why?"

"He says that he needs to shut up shop for the day. It is seven, DI Drake, and no doubt yourself and DCI Hunt are tired from the drive here."

Alex sighs quietly to herself, still not fully understanding the motives for DCI Hopwell's actions but accepting that they will have to continue this tomorrow.

"OK. Thank you, Sergeant, we'll be on our way."

Gene, seeing her back down from the fight, does the same, standing up and leaving his chair in the middle of the room as he walks out. Alex, sighing, props it against the wall for him and follows him and the sergeant back to the reception desk, where Annie and Sam are happily waiting, Annie playing with Sam under the chairs. Gene grins at the sight of them, Annie hurriedly standing up and blushing.

"Sorry-"

Gene shakes his head.

"Don' be. Yer a mother, if yer weren't playin' wi' 'im then an apology might be in order."

Annie's cheeks turn a little pink.

"I suppose. 'Ow'd it go?"

"Interview was cut short," Alex sighs, reaching down to take Sam's sticky hand and smile at the little boy. He reminds her of someone, and she sighs as the face weaves into her mind and then sticks there, blonde-tinted brown hair in a ponytail, bright blue eyes, a broad smile next to a prominent, distinctive birthmark...

Shaking herself back to the present, Alex smiles as Sam's high-pitched voice rings out through the foyer.

"Mammy, can we go 'ome in Uncle Gene's Quattro?"

"Why did they cut the interview short?" Alex murmurs to Annie as Gene steers the little boy out through the main doors and Annie gathers her things from the chair. Annie frowns, giving Alex a questioning look.

"They didn't give yer a reason?"

Alex shakes her head as Annie slings her bag onto her shoulders and straightens up.

"Just that it was getting late, but I doubt that was the real reason."

Annie shrugs.

"DCI Hopwell is a bit like that. Where're yer an' Gene stayin' tonight?"

Alex bites her lip.

"We were thinking we'd be back in London by now, but with the interview and traffic and then the added complication of seeing Litton, I don't think we'd get home before morning and I don't want Gene falling asleep at the wheel. We'll find a hotel somewhere, I'm sure Gene has some money in the Quattro somewhere."

Annie shakes her head.

"Don' be silly, Alex. Yer can come an' sleep at mine tonight, I've got a spare room an' Sam'll be delighted. 'E's grown up 'earin' people talk about Gene an' the things 'e did; it'll be like 'avin' a film star ter stay the night fer 'im, a legend in 'is midst."

Alex laughs, gratitude in her eyes as she accepts the offer.

"Oi! Bolly! Tyler! Yer comin' or am I goin' ter spend the rest o' the night out 'ere freezin' my ar- er, fingers off?"

Gene swerves mid-sentence as he remembers who he has clinging onto his arm; Annie, laughing, hurries towards the door and bids the desk sergeant goodnight.

* * *

"It was ten years ago yer dad joined us, Sam, an' three years ago 'e left us. When 'e came 'ere, 'e'd just 'ad a car accident an' 'e 'ad concussion- 'e'd banged 'is 'ead an' 'e was a bit confused, didn' know what was what. I got 'im inter my office an', er, set 'im straight a bit. After that, 'e seemed a bit better- but 'e still rambled on about the future, some guff about gettin' 'ome. None of us knew what 'e meant, but it turned out that it was just the effects o' the concussion an' nothin' ter worry abou'. 'E was a brilliant copper, Sam, one o' the best I ever knew, an' a good, loyal man. 'E would've loved ter 'ave lived ter be yer dad. But 'e 'ad ter go."

Sam Jr. snuggles into Gene's chest, closing his eyes as Gene balances him on his lap, the one reminder he has left of Sam Tyler, his DI. Unbeknownst to him, Alex is watching through a crack in the wall, a broad smile on her face as Gene smoothes Sam's hair from his eyes and lays the little boy down on his bed, bidding him a quiet goodnight but pausing as Sam grabs his arm.

"Uncle Gene?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam's intelligent eyes bore into Gene's, so like his father's that Gene has to steel himself to keep looking into them.

"Why did Daddy 'ave ter go?"

Gene pauses. Alex holds her breath unconsciously, waiting with bated breath for Gene's answer.

"'E never told me, Sam. All I knew was that 'e 'ad ter go. Nothin' more."

Sam nods sadly, sliding his legs out from under the duvet and winding himself round Gene's leg once again. Gene leans down to disentangle him.

"Uncle Gene, can I sleep in yer bed tonight? I get nightmares in my room, Mammy lets me sleep in 'er bed but she's tired tonight."

Gene doesn't miss a beat in swooping the little boy up and hauling him through into the spare room, a smile on his face as Sam giggles and nestles in between the sheets. Alex gets the feeling that there was some empathy involved in Gene's decision.

"Yer comin', Bolls?" Gene asks softly, holding an arm out for her. Alex doesn't need to be told twice.

One thing she notices throughout the night is that Gene doesn't move once; he remains in his curled-up position, chin resting lightly on Alex's head, arm protectively round Sam. Normally, whenever she shares a bed with him, she is woken up at least twice a night by Gene moving around, kicking out, tossing and turning through nightmares that she knows he would never admit to.

Tonight, he is blissfully still.

It's almost as though, for one night, he is in the presence of a guardian angel.

* * *

A/N: I hope you like it! I know, I'm cheeky not updating properly, but I've been very busy... well, relatively busy anyway ;) I was going to give my sparkly boots a cameo in this chapter, but there wasn't an opportunity... :P Anyway, I hope you liked it, please, please remember to review! Thanks massively for reading :D Jazzola :)


	5. Chapter 5

Alex is the first to wake up the next morning; propping herself up on the plush duck feather pillows (no expense spared for visitors of this house), she watches Gene and Sam sleeping, the tranquillity and peace of the two men beside her. Sam nestles further into Gene as she watches, seeing Gene open his eyes a fraction and clock that he's got Sam curled around his stomach before gently disentangling himself and sitting up, giving Alex a smile and suppressing a laugh as Sam sleepily complains that "Uncle Gene's not comfy anymore" and clings to him like a monkey, pressing his face onto Gene's chest.

"Someone's very attached to you, Gene," Alex laughs softly, pointing to the child. Gene sighs theatrically, trying to hide from Alex that he's completely in love with the feel of the little boy's head resting against him, soft hair trickling onto his skin and skinny fingers wrapping round his arm as the child sleeps on. He's not fooling anyone- just the look in his eyes is enough to show his true emotions as he smiles at the little boy beside him.

_He'd have loved a child. He probably still would._

Her heart clenches as she thinks of Molly.

_They would get on so well. Same stubborn streak, same determination, same inate care about the world and the people around them and even people they've never heard of and don't know._

She sees Gene gently stroking Sam's hair back and leaning back against the headboard, not really awake yet, in a dozing state between wakefulness and slumber. Sam interrupts him by suddenly becoming more awake than either of the adults there would have thought possible and bouncing onto Gene's stomach, winding his hero as he yelps for Uncle Gene to wake up.

"Uncle Gene! Uncle Gene!"

"Uncle Gene can't breathe," Gene wheezes, gently pushing Sam off and trying to catch his breath after the sudden attack. Alex laughs, picking Sam up and depositing him next to Gene, gently explaining that if you jump onto people's chests then it pushes the air out of them and they need to get more air in quickly, and that's what's happened to Uncle Gene now.

"Sorry Uncle Gene," Sam says sadly, watching as Gene massages his stomach and takes a few deep breaths, slightly pale.

"'S alright, Sam. Yer weren't ter know."

Annie comes in to wake the threesome up, resplendent in a scarlet bed robe and dark blue pyjamas, takes one look at Gene and offers to get some ice.

"I'm fine, Annie. Thanks."

Annie's eyebrows rise at the thanks.

"Alex, yer must be 'avin' more of an effect than I thought, yer've managed ter engrain some manners inter 'im!"

Alex laughs, turning to see an indignant look on Gene's face and a half-puzzled, half-irritated look on Sam's face as he simultaneously tries to work out the taunt and decides he doesn't like the attack on his hero.

"Come on, Gu- Gene, when yer were still 'ere gettin' a thanks from yer was like gettin' a telegram from the Queen!"

Alex chuckles again, seeing Gene rolling his eyes and Sam bounding out of the bed, asking what breakfast was and whether he could serve Gene and Alex. Alex has to blink back tears at the enthusiastic little boy, remembering the high-pitched voice of her own baby, the huge smile and the birthmark on her cheek, the smooth hair tied back in a ponytail, and quickly makes her excuses and heads to the bathroom for a little cry for her lost child, her precious little diamond as she used to call her, the very thing she lived for in 2008.

She doesn't hear Gene's footsteps outside, pausing and creeping closer, listening for a minute before backing away and heading downstairs.

* * *

The Quattro is silent as Gene and Alex make their way to the station, Annie and Sam following in their car as Gene and Alex will likely be gone long before Annie heads off to pick up Sam from school. Gene doesn't want to bring up the subject of the sobs he heard earlier, and Alex is confused as to why Gene isn't saying anything but hasn't thought to put the radio on, as though he wants to concentrate on his own thoughts. Normally, when Gene retreats into himself like this, it's not a good thing, and she's worried.

On the other side of the car, Gene is also worried, but about Alex. He catches her looks towards him, her little flickering gazes that are over in seconds, but never turns his head to meet them, not realising that the crease between his eyes is a tell-tale sign of his worrying. The sound of her misery, her gasping breaths, the breathy sobs, echoes through his skull, so distracting that he almost misses a red light. _Why was she cryin'? 'Ave I done somethin' ter upset 'er? 'Ow the 'ell do I ask 'er? _He can't wait to get to the station, interview Litton one more time, get some answers to this case and then go home. _Maybe she'll perk up once we're back in London._

Alex sighs in the passenger seat, resigning herself to a quiet journey and not finding out what's bugging her partner. _Maybe it's just memories of Manchester, his childhood, Sam Tyler. Maybe it'll go away once we're back in London._

DCI Alan Hopwell greets them in Reception, giving a quick and fairly non-explanatory apology for their interview being cut short the day before. Alex's suspicions are once again aroused; her psychology training tells her that he's hiding something, but she has no proof and just to come out with something like that would be extremely rude, so she hides her thoughts behind a fake smile and carries on as normal, giving Alan a quick run-through of what happened in the interview room the previous night. He offers Gene and Alex in a side room to write up a report on the interviews to take back to London, explaining that he'd had a phone call from their Superintendent asking for the report so that he knew exactly what had happened up in Manchester, and disappears to deal with a rape case in his own department.

The same uncomfortable silence that had reigned in the Quattro earlier now returns to the small room as Alex picks up a pen and starts writing out the interview's details, in smooth italic writing that makes Gene roll his eyes. Neither talk, but little interactions begin to happen: Alex grins at Gene's messy handwriting, Gene takes a cigarette out and quickly changes his mind and puts it back into his pocket, Alex leans over to correct a spelling on Gene's sheet of paper and scribble out a doodle on the margin, Gene stands up to shut the door and block out some of the noise from his former department. Suddenly they are less on edge, more in tune with each other, and the atmosphere begins to calm, the storm passed.

Gene turns slightly to look at Alex, bent over her piece of paper, the tip of her tongue sticking out slightly as she tries to remember the details of the interview. _Maybe I should ask 'er... but what do I say? "Why did I 'ear yer sobbin' yer 'eart out earlier? Didn' bother comin' in an' comfortin' yer, but 'eard yer an' want an explanation." Yeah, Gene. Very smooth._

She looks up at him with a questioning look in her eyes, seeing his face worried. _Just ask 'er, yer twat!_

"Bolls..."

She smiles at him.

"Yes, Gene?"

"Er..."

She smiles at his nervousness, as much in love with this endearingly hesitant version of Gene as she is with the rest of him. His eyes drop to the desk; her smile vanishes.

"Well, I- I 'eard yer cryin' earlier. I just wondered why. Did I do somethin' ter upset yer?"

Alex stares at him, startled at what he's said. _How did he know I was crying? I didn't hear anyone! And it's just like him to assume he did something and it's all his fault... but oh God, what do I tell him? If I don't tell the truth, he'll know I'm lying. Oh God, what do I say?_

She meets his gaze as he looks straight at her, concern in his eyes.

"I was thinking about- about my little girl."

The crease between his eyes reappears.

"The little girl yer never talk about."

She looks up at him, slightly surprised.

"I just- oh Gene, it's so difficult. It hurts too much to talk about her, but when I don't talk about her, all the misery's stored inside me, every last drop of it, and it's so hard to get out."

"Then talk about 'er. Tell me about 'er."

"I- don't want to."

His mouth sets.

"Yer don' trust me."

Her eyes widen.

"No, Gene, it's not that at all! Of course I trust you, I'd trust you with anything-"

"But not yer daughter."

He stands up, the hurt clear in his eyes. Alex stands as well, pushing her chair back, trying to grab his arm, a shard of ice thrusting itself into her heart as he knocks her hand away and walks out.

"Gene- Gene, please, come back!"

He ignores her, keeping his head down as he passes the entrance hall and Phyllis, avoiding her piercing gaze as Alex hurries after him, not quick enough to catch up, still calling after him.

The cold air hits them like a ice wall; Gene heads straight for the Quattro, pulling his keys out as he goes, Alex still on his heels and yelling to him, her voice easily as piercing as the freezing air.

"Gene!"

BANG.

Gene falls sideways against the Quattro; for a moment, Alex thinks he's just slipped on the frozen ground.

Then she realises that not all the red on the Quattro is from the paint.

And then she's running, ripping his shirt to access the wound in his stomach, screaming over her shoulder for Phyllis to get an ambulance, cradling him, rocking him gently in her arms as he grasps her hand, their argument forgotten. She lowers her head to press her lips to his cold skin, strokes his hair back with a bloody hand, whispers encouragement to him.

His hazy eyes meet hers as they close further, leaving only a tiny strip of vivid blue visible, a tear collecting in the side of one as Alex bends to whisper to him.

"My daughter's name is Molly. And I would trust you with her life."

Gene's lips twitch into a smile as he drifts into unconsciousness in her arms, a single tear rolling down his cheek and mixing with the blood dripping from the Quattro.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for those of you who thought Gene would make it out of that chapter in one piece ;) Hope you liked it! Please, please remember to leave a review, it really is hugely appreciated. Thanks for reading! Jazzola :)


	6. Chapter 6

Beep, beep... beep, beep...

_Focus, Alex. Focus. Think._

Beep, beep... beep, beep...

_He'll be fine. Think about who hurt him. You must have seen someone. Who could be connected to this?_

Beep, beep... beep-beep-beep-beep-beep-beep...

Alex's head swerves up to the cardio monitor as it begins bleeping its warning, exhaling with relief as she sees that the monitor band has simply fallen off Gene's arm, nothing more. She gently eases it back on, smiling as he turns his head slightly towards it and carries on sleeping, the effects of the sedation gone but the gunshot wound still clogging his consciousness almost completely.

_Litton was in the cells. There was nobody else about apart from myself and Gene. DCI Hopwell... Alex, are you serious? You're suspecting Hopwell? He's a DCI, for goodness' sake!_

_Litton was a DCI. He shot Gene._

_But did he shoot Gene intentionally?_

_Oh, come on, Alex. It's not very likely that he just walked out of his house in his sleep and shot Gene, is it? You really bought that sleepwalking stuff?_

_But what if that did happen? What if he was sleepwalking and you just don't want to believe him? Maybe he is innocent. Maybe your judgement is being marred by the fact that you've been through a lot of emotional distress in the last couple of hours, and you're very worried about Gene. Maybe you shouldn't be trusting these thoughts, or yourself..._

_Would you shut up, already? You're driving me crazy!_

_What are you talking about? I _am _you!_

Alex groans, leaning back in her chair and feeling her skull throbbing with the beginnings of a headache. Gene's limp hand rests in her own, no movement visible at all; she smooths her thumb over the back of it and brings it up to her mouth, kissing it gently, tucking it into her lap. The elegant fingers lie between her own, slightly curved, calloused and scarred from many long days of work; she remembers them clutching at hers, scarlet blood weaving between the cracks in his skin as his grip wavers. She hurriedly sniffs back the tears that threaten her eyes and turns as a doctor walks in, checking over the machines and taking hold of Gene's other hand, beginning to speak to him.

"Gene, can you hear me? You there?"

Gene makes no sign of having heard. Alex's eyebrows draw together in worry, her fingers squeezing Gene's gently as the doctor repeats his question.

"I need you to respond, Gene. Come on, just try to open your eyes, or move your fingers for me."

He sees Alex holding onto Gene's hand, her hand tight on his, a drowning woman clutching her lifebelt.

"Can you squeeze your partner's hand, Gene? Alex, she's here with you. Can you squeeze her hand?"

A lifetime of seconds pass. Alex feels her breathing becoming ragged as Gene seems to ignore every word the doctor says, oblivious to her desperation, to the world, to everything...

And then his hand, just for a second, clenches on hers.

Alex gives a little shriek of joy, clasping his hand in both of hers, kissing it hard, leaning over the bed to kiss his lips; just one little movement has brought him back for a few seconds, and Alex is almost convulsing with relief as the doctor pronounces that he's making a good recovery. Only a couple of hours ago, he was about to slip into a coma, but now he seems to be back from the brink.

The doctor tactfully leaves just as a new figure slips in, gently closing the door behind them, sitting down next to Alex and watching as a tear slides down the woman's cheek.

"Alex."

Alex turns slightly to see Annie sitting next to her, brown eyes twinkling with tears, a slender hand reaching out to touch her shoulder. The human contact is all that's needed to bring out the tears.

She doesn't even know whether they are tears of sadness or happiness or exhaustion or worry or what. All she knows is that they are soaking into Annie's brown silk shirt, and that out of the corner of her eye she sees a nurse hustling little Sam away from the room, explaining that a bad thing has happened and that Mammy and Alex need their privacy for a minute.

"Alex. I 'ave ter tell yer this."

Alex's eyes meet Annie's hesitantly as she begins to speak, still brimming with tears, Gene's ragged breathing the perfect dramatic backdrop for the words whispering from Annie's mouth.

"Derek Litton escaped from the cells abou' ten minutes before Gene was shot."

* * *

"I can't believe that I ever had any sympathy for you."

Litton flinches back from Alex's cold words, his eyes once again wild, desperation coursing through their dark depths; he looks like an untamed animal trying to beg scraps from a hunter, his fingernails scrabbling at the glass divide as though he could rip through it like paper. A pulse beats frantically in his neck, standing out at his temples, and it's all Alex can do not to recoil from this beast in front of her.

"I didn't shoot Gene. I didn't! I DIDN'T!"

His voice grows increasingly more wild, the volume raised to a crazy shriek as he claws at the cold sheen in front of him, a thin trail of blood following one finger.

"Then tell me who did."

For a moment, she wonders if Litton has heard her above his cries- but he suddenly freezes, clenching his fingers, his eyes rising to fix on hers.

"I can'. 'E'll kill me."

"Brilliant excuse," Alex replies, deadpan, ice dripping from her tone. "That's just what they all say, isn't it, Litton? "Oh, it was him, it was her, it was someone else, but if I tell you, I'll die, so I can't!" Classic, absolutely classic. The facts are that you escaped from here approximately ten minutes before Gene Hunt received a bullet to the stomach, and now, once again, you're here, having been charged with shooting him ten years ago as well! There's one blessing, though- the scar tissue from the first wound prevented the second one being fatal, managed to temper the effects and keep Gene alive. You weren't expecting that, were you? One shot means another fails. Again, classic."

Litton's face slowly breaks into a smile.

Alex frowns. _OK, I wasn't expecting that. He's smiling. Maybe he needs a psychiatric assessment._

Litton sees her confusion, leaning forwards to bring himself as close as possible to her, leaning his grubby forehead on the glass, leaving smears of sweat as he moves. Alex moves back a little.

"The first shot saved 'im? 'E's not dead? Oh, hallelujah! Yes! Thank God!"

_Now I'm really confused. He's thanking God? For what? Jesus, this is doing my head in. I want to go back to the hospital. No, I want to go back to London before we left and never come here._

Litton laughs deliriously, clapping, whirling round inside the cell and praising God for Gene's life being spared.

Alex sits in silence, trying to work him out and failing miserably.

At beckon of nothing, the man stops his whirligig of euphoria, turning to face her with his dull eyes suddenly glinting. Blood runs onto the ground from his cut finger, but he ignores it completely, his gaze fixed on his opponent's eyes, his whole body tense and intent.

"A man came in 'ere wi' the keys ter the cells. 'E opened my cell door an' tol' me ter get out o' the station, gave me a greatcoat ter cover myself up with. I didn' want ter, but 'e pushed me out, 'eld a pistol ter me 'ead an' tol' me I'd die unless I took the blame fer killin' Gene Hunt and shootin' 'im ten years ago. A life in prison or lyin' dead on the floor, 'e said. An' I took the first option because I thought, well, better I 'ave a fightin' chance o' provin' my innocence than I'm just dead."

Alex searches his eyes, looking around him and his body language for any trace of deception, but there is nothing. Either Litton is an exceptionally skilled liar, or he is telling the truth.

"Thank you, Mr Litton. That will be all. Officers, could you take him back down to the cells, please?"

She needs time. Gene. Some alcohol. Reassurance. Comfort. Sleep.

Molly...

* * *

_White. Lots o' white. Too bright. Hurts._

_I though' it was red? Quattro. The Quattro, my Quattro. Bright red. Redder than usual? Can' remember._

_Bolly was 'oldin' my 'and. Twice. One time it was red, one time it was pink. Why? Nail polish? Nah, the Gene Genie doesn' notice girly stuff like nail polish._

_Blood. One time 'er 'and was covered in blood._

_Is she 'urt?_

_Am I 'urt?_

_Bloody 'ell. I can't move._

_Too much white... ow..._

_Bolly, stop bloody tellin' me ter wake up, I'm doin' my best!_

_Annie? Why're you 'ere? Whyever yer 'ere, keep the sprog out. I don' want 'im seein' 'is 'ero like this. Is 'e 'ere? Can't 'ear 'im. Probably not, then._

_White? It's grey. The 'ole room's grey. Why did I think it was white? I must've 'ad too much ter drink. Did I 'ave an argument wi' Bolly? Yes, I did. But I didn' drink after it. Somethin' 'appened... somethin' ter do wi' the Quattro, I think..._

_Did I crash the Quattro? No. The Quattro wasn' movin', I was next ter it._

_So what does that mean?_

_Oh. Now I remember._

Gene's eyes flicker, finding Alex's, Annie's, the concerned eyes of a nurse, and then back to Alex's. Her hand is gripping his harder than is comfortable, but that's not what he's concerned about; he has to tell her what he remembers before he can't recall it again.

His mouth opens, beginning to form words; Alex leans forwards to hear, a tear dripping onto his chest from her cheek.

"It wasn' Litton."

And then his eyes close again and he is plunged back into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

"Some water, Gene?"

"Ta."

Alex lifts the cup of water from the bedside cabinet and places it gently to Gene's lips, smiling as he reaches up and takes it from her with a huff of displeasure, gulping down a few mouthfuls before leaning back to ease the movement in his sore abdomen.

"Can feed an' water myself, Bolls, I'm not a complete invalid."

"I never said you were. I'm just worried about you, you were only shot eight days ago. That's not very long at all."

"I was shot before an' went back ter work on the same day."

"Sam Tyler told me about that. One, that was silly as the wound might have turned gangrenous from lack of proper treatment, and two, you were shot in the leg as opposed to the stomach. This time, the hospital won't let you go until they're absolutely certain that you're well enough, and I'll be enforcing that."

Gene pouts, but doesn't argue any more, choosing instead to take another long swig of water from the cup and put it back down on the cabinet. Alex grasps his hand as soon as it is free, tucking it into her lap and leaning forwards to kiss him, stretching a hand down at the same time to check the bandages over the wound on his stomach for blood; they have to do it at least twice a day, to monitor the stitches, and each time Alex distracts him before doing it, trying to press as lightly as possible so that he won't feel it. She knows she has no such luck, but he never shows any signs of pain or discomfort, so she feels confident doing it.

A light cough comes from the doorway, and Alex finishes with a quick flick of her tongue onto Gene's lower lip, turning to see the visitor as Gene raises his head slightly and takes in Annie, her hand holding onto little Sam's as the child strains to see his honorary uncle, almost ignoring the monitors and machines surrounding the bed as he runs up and demands to be picked up by Uncle Gene.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Gene," Alex says quickly, but it falls on deaf ears, as Gene has already reached out and gently taken hold of Sam Jr., lifting him up and balancing him on the rail at the side of the bed, sitting up carefully as Sam leans backwards and wraps himself up in the hospital blanket, making out he's a bed monster.

"Yer sure yer OK wi' 'im there, Gene?" Annie asks anxiously, her eyes searching his as she plops down onto the chair next to Alex's, stowing her bag underneath it and righting her jacket, a thick-set jacket reminiscent of the 70s; Alex smiles at it, knowing that it's a relic from the times when she was the happiest, with a husband and a department she knew and loved, the battles against sexism mostly won (all except Ray, and who gave a crap what he said anyway?) and the crimes quickly solved by the A-Team that they were. Briefly, she sees how much Annie must miss her husband, but her attention is quickly drawn by Sam banging his knee on the bars and beginning to cry.

"'Ey, 'ey, no need fer tears," Gene chides gently, rubbing Sam's knee and giving his shoulder a little shake, pulling the blanket back up over the little boy's head to make him laugh. Annie's beam is almost lighting up the ward on its own, and Alex feels her heart ache once again as she thinks how good he would be with her own daughter.

_Oh, Molls, if only you could be here..._

Gene straightens up and turns to Annie, questions in his eyes.

"Anybody caught yet?"

"Litton's being held in custody, we haven' got any eye-witnesses apart from Alex, an' she didn' see anythin', so we're a little stuck right now. Litton's maintainin' his story, that 'e was sprung an' didn' do a thin', just ran until uniform picked 'im up. Apparently there's a third party involved, one we didn' know about."

Alex's mind whirs as she thinks through what Annie has said, but Gene interrupts, easing Sam's hands off his shoulders and plonking him back down on the mattress as he speaks, every bit the unconscious paternal carer.

"I told yer. I saw a blond-'aired, short man, very pale skin an' greyin' at the sides."

"But that wouldn' explain why 'e shot yer the first time. Unless 'e was workin' wi' someone else, which seems ter be the most likely explanation."

"He might have been trying to get the glory himself , that would explain why he celebrated when I told him Gene wasn't dead," Alex butts in, looking round at the pair. Gene frowns, covering Sam's ears briefly, making it into a game as Sam can't hear what the adults are saying, murmuring anyway.

"So I might be the centre o' some kind o' man-hunt?"

Alex nods slowly.

* * *

"I'm going for a quick walk, no company required. Be back in half an hour."

DCI Hopwell stands up in his office, walking out quickly with his coat slung over his arm. Annie stands up, a frown on her face.

"Sir, are yer sure that's wise, after wha' 'appened ter DCI Hunt?"

"What happens to Gene at the hands of that deranged lunatic Litton and what happens to me are two very separate things, DI Tyler. I can see no immediate threats to my well-being looming in the car park, so if you'll excuse me, I'll just be off."

Annie sighs at his back as he walks off.

"DI Tyler-" one of the DCs begins, but he's cut off as Annie tiptoes out of CID after Hopwell, her eyes narrowed at the figure now putting his coat on in the entrance foyer, flicking the lapels up a little as he steps into the brisk air. Annie, shivering and cursing leaving her jacket on her chair, follows him, her police officer's intuition telling her that something is wrong.

Hopwell keeps glancing around to check that nobody is after him; it's a credit to Annie's skills in surveillance, mostly attributable to her late husband, that he doesn't see her before walking into a man near the old record shop. Instead of brushing him by, as Annie would expect, the man grabs him by the shoulders and discreetly steers him into a little side alley, pressing him against the wall and looking straight into his eyes. Hopwell's gaze falters under the piercing stare.

Annie's eyes widen as the blond-haired, short, pale-skinned man reaches up and presses his hand to Hopwell's throat, pinning him against the fence by his windpipe. Hopwell gurgles, reaching up as though to throw the man off, but his hand stops around his opponent's midriff.

"Why did you want to meet me here?" he croaks, trying to draw back into the concrete wall pressing against his back.

"I wanted to know that you're pressing charges against Litton for shooting DCI Hunt twice."

Hopwell nods jerkily, but as soon as the other man steps back he folds his arms, nervous but a glimmer of his old authority returning.

"And who says I want to send an innocent man down?"

The man steps closer to Hopwell, his eyes narrowing, stance square, not to be defied. Hopwell shrinks back.

_Send an innocent man down..._

"You'll send him down because I say so," the man says softly, his hand edging towards his pocket, a bulging object distorting the dark leather. Annie has to gulp for a second; this man, this tyrant, wears the same jacket as her beloved husband.

The man swerves round, staring at the little alcove in which Annie has sheltered herself. She shrinks down instinctively, checking that she has her radio in her pocket, the weight in her little handbag.

"We've got company."

"Just a squirrel," Hopwell says uncertainly. "Joe, I don't want to do this. Litton didn't do anything wrong."

Joe spins on his heel, his eyes threatening slits as he pushes Hopwell back against the fence, knocking his skull back against the concrete; Hopwell gasps in pain, his eyes wide as his terroriser reaches up to grasp his arm firmly, their noses almost touching. Annie clutches her handbag harder.

"You'll obey me, because if you don't obey me, I'll do the same to you as I did to Derek Litton."

And then he steps away, and the last thing Annie is conscious of is something being clapped over her mouth before the world goes dark.

* * *

"Where's Mammy?"

Gene frowns out the window, watching for Annie's brown Renault to approach the hospital car park, sidle into a parking space. It's nowhere to be seen, and a quick shake of the head towards Alex gives her the message as she comes back in from a tour of the hospital.

"Nothin'."

Alex narrows her eyes at the cars outside, as though one of them is hiding Annie behind his alloys; giving up on her glare, she turns back to Gene.

"Did she have a radio with her?"

Gene nods.

"She tol' me she'd radio back if anythin' 'appened wi' the shootin'. Carries it with 'er at all times."

He reaches out and shifts some papers on the cabinet aside to reveal a standard-issue police radio, black with a masking-tape stripe over the centre and Annie's name etched on it. The radio stares innocently back at the gathered people, unresponsive, a cold lump of metal as Alex picks it up and gives a brief transmission.

"Annie, are you receiving me? Over."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, before a tiny, faint voice crackes through the static to them, making Alex jump and Sam choke on a breath.

"I'm by... Sam's record shop..."

The radio goes dead; no more comes from it. Further transmissions crackle into nothingness. Alex tries her hardest not to punch the thing in frustration, looking up to see comprehension dawn on Gene's face.

"Do you know what's going on?"

"Yeah, I do. We need ter get ter the record shop on the 'Igh Street, that's where Annie'll be."

He sits up, making to rip the heart monitor off his arm and reaching for his suit in the cabinet. Alex stops him, staring at him.

"What are you doing, DCI Gene Hunt?"

"Unless yer goin' ter leave Annie on 'er own, I'm comin' wi' yer. Yer've never ever been ter Manchester before."

Alex frowns at him, unwillingly letting him drag his suit on over the pyjamas and easing the monitors off him, reluctant to take him out of relative safety while he's still so ill.

Gene flicks the lapels of the suit out as he does the final button up on the shirt, his gold chain just showing above it, trying to disguise the slight bulk beneath it. Sam watches him, disappointment on his face.

"Where yer goin', Uncle Gene?"

Gene turns, picks Sam up and hugs him hard, holding him close; Sam looks confused, but smiles.

"Stay in 'ere, Sam."

And with that, Gene and Alex leave, Sam staring after them with tears in his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Alex and Gene hurry along the high street towards the record shop known by everyone who knew DI Tyler as Sam's record shop, the Quattro abandoned behind them, parked skewedly in the nearest car park; there is no time for niceties. Several people have to dodge out of their way as the two run down the alleyway next to the record shop and begin searching, Alex once again transmitting desperately on the radio and Gene trying to ignore the pain in his stomach as he checks the undergrowth and begins rummaging through a nearby bin, looking for any trace of Annie or anyone who might know where she is.

"Anythin'?" he calls to Alex, who shakes her head and drops the radio into her bag, beginning to scour the ground herself, shooting Gene a worried glance as he stands up and rubs his hand over his stomach for a moment before going back down to look again.

"You sure you should be here?"

Gene gives her a look that can only be described as scorn before getting back down again and feeling through the muck in the alleyway. His hand finds something heavy and fabric-covered, and he pulls it out, seeing Annie's handbag with the paperweight in there, her own device for knocking out suspects who resist arrest. As he thinks to himself, there is a reason she is jokingly known as "Concussion Annie" by some in the station.

"Bolls!"

Alex runs over to take a look, smiling at Annie's ingenuity but then frowning as she realises what this means: Annie is unarmed and pretty much defenceless, wherever she is.

Swinging Annie's handbag onto her shoulder and wincing as it thuds onto her flesh, Alex begins searching again, seeing Gene bend with some care in the corner of her eye and examine what appears to be a bush. His fingers deftly weave through the foliage, and he uncovers some kind of trap door, beckoning Alex over as he opens it, staring down into the passage below, illuminated slightly by the weak Mancunian sunlight, enough for them to see the steep stairway leading down into the ground.

Alex looks round into Gene's eyes, frowning slightly as she presses a finger to the topmost stair, as if to make sure that they really are there. Gene nods slightly.

_It's safe._

Alex looks back down, this time at her own feet, her high heels which just seem to scream out for an opportunity to let their owner go arse over tit. Gene follows her gaze and sighs.

"C'mere, yer daft mare."

With the utmost care, he picks her up and begins to make his way down the passage, his own step sure as he negotiates the narrow staircase. Alex puts her hands out to the wall to try and steady them further, feeling Gene's heart beating against her side, rapid, almost like an executioner's drum roll as the prisoners approach the hangman's noose.

_Don't think like that, Alex._

Gene eventually reaches level ground, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding in, and carefully lowers Alex onto the floor as he leans against one of the walls to ease the twinge of pain in his stomach. The wound is almost healed over now, but still tender; both know he needs to take care, although he would be loathe to admit it.

"She must be down 'ere somewhere," Gene hisses in the darkness, wishing they had a torch with them; despite all the disparaging remarks he's made in the past towards the police issue torches, he longs for one now. Alex sighs gently.

"We'll have to feel our way around instead, hopefully there'll be some light somewhere. Annie'll hear us if she's down here, anyway."

Gene nods, but naturally Alex doesn't see in the utter blackness and he feels stupid as soon as he's done it.

"OK. But what if someone else 'ears as well?"

"That's a risk we'll have to take. There's no time to go to the station, explain and get back-up."

Gene knows she's right, but a tiny part of him, a part that is normally quashed, is worried that they're doing this the wrong way; Annie's life could be hanging in the balance, and it's just him and Alex, with no light and only one weapon between them, to get her back to safety.

With his heart thudding in his ears, Gene slowly walks after Alex, his hand resting on her shoulder.

* * *

"Mr Hunt? I need ter... oh!"

The young nurse blinks in surprise as she walks into the room to find a small boy sitting on an otherwise empty bed, curled up in the blankets.

"Hello? Who're yer? Where's Mr Hunt?"

The little boy looks up at her, tears in his wide brown eyes as he takes her in.

"Uncle Gene went. Wi' Alex. They tol' me ter stay 'ere."

The nurse crouches down to the child's height, resting her elbows on the bed as she tries to take all this in. Two adults leaving hospital and leaving a small boy in their wake? There was certainly nothing about this in training.

"Did they tell yer where they went?"

The boy shakes his head.

"What's yer name?"

"Sam Tyler Jr."

The nurse picks him up and turns to go and raise the alarm, confused at this sudden turn of events.

As she leaves the room, Sam Jr. mumbles something against her shoulder, and she stoops towards him to hear it.

"They went ter find my mam."

* * *

It feels to Alex and Gene as though they have been walking for hours, and with no light to read their watches by they may as well have been; the tunnel seems to be never-ending, going through Manchester down to Africa and all the way to the South Pole before stopping.

"Keep holding onto my hand," Alex whispers in the silence as they edge on, each with a hand on the wall and a hand on each other; right now they are grasping the spare hand of the other, Gene's fingers cool and rough on Alex's smooth skin, shaking the tiniest amount and trying to hold on hard to hers to disguise it. Alex's throat is dry and rough from thirst and the tension surrounding them, so thick you could almost cut it with a blade; for a second, making this observation, she is thrown back to 2002, watching a Scooby-Doo cartoon with Molly one night after work and giggling herself as Scooby cut the fog on the pirate ship with a knife, making a perfect circle and then taking it out and eating it as Molly laughed in front of him, engulfed in his world of ghosts and clues and Scooby Snacks. For a second, her loss is hard to bear, and she has to cling onto Gene's hand to remind herself that there are still people here who really care about her.

"Bolls?" Gene murmurs cautiously, reaching out blindly and feeling his way up her body to find her cheek, cupping it gently as he feels a tear rolling onto his skin.

"Oh, Bolls... bloody 'ell, yer know I'm no good at this cryin' women thin'..."

"Liar, you've seen women crying a thousand times," Alex whispers as he pulls her into a hug, letting her rest her head on his chest as he props his chin up on the crown of her head, each breathing in the smell of the other, intimate, calm. It takes a minute for him to retort to her words.

"Yeah, but when it's the wife of some poor dead bastard or whatever yer understand why they're cryin'. I 'aven't got a clue wi' yer, never 'ave."

She gives a watery laugh into his chest.

"I suppose."

Gene holds her closer, hoping that she'll tell him the reason for her sudden tears; she realises what he's waiting for and draws a deep breath, looking up at him, hoping she's meeting his eyes.

"I just thought about my daughter. Watching cartoons with her at home. How I might never do that again."

Tears block her throat once again as Gene strokes the droplets off her cheeks, more tender and caring and _sweet_ than any of his team would ever see him. For a second her heart clenches as she remembers how she used to do this to Molly- but she knows that she cannot carry on thinking about her daughter with such sadness. Molly is gone, and there is nothing she can do about it. She will be looked after, Evan will make sure of that, even if it means that he takes her in as well; she murmurs a quiet prayer in her head that Evan gets custody and not Molly's good-for-bloody-nothing father.

She has no idea if anyone has heard it.

Gene's eyes suddenly come into focus, and she realises that light has flooded the corridor; gasping, she pulls him into a recess, hearing footsteps coming towards them, the people behind the light indistinguishable, kept completely in silhouette by the torches held in their outstretched hands.

"She hasn't woken up yet," one says, and the other simply nods. Gene draws in his breath sharply, receiving a hard look from Alex for making a noise. He just gives her one back. He can see in her eyes how scared she is as well.

"What about her brat?"

"The kid? Who cares?"

"I do. He'll remind other people that she's missing. They're always more intent on finding someone if they have close family to miss them. Add that to the fact that she's a police officer and, frankly, she's a danger. We'll have to dispose of her the same way I tried to dispose of Hunt."

This time both Alex and Gene gasp, but thankfully the man is talking over them.

"She'll have to be hidden, naturally, but I have a few places where we can do that. We might even be able to tell the boy where his mother is buried when he's old enough- for a price, of course."

The second man still says nothing, simply gives a grim smile. Alex clings onto Gene like a spider under a waterfall, feeling his tense body under her hands and wishing she had her Dictaphone with her. Either that or a gun. Her fingers find the handbag slung over her shoulder, the thick weight beneath the patterned cloth; maybe, maybe not...

"Do you have what we need for silencing Hunt, anyway?"

The second figure nods jerkily.

"I know what I ordered, and if it doesn't arrive, I will be displeased to say the least. Looks like it's all going to plan, though."

The man's companion finally speaks, in a low voice that is almost indistinguishable to Gene and Alex.

"You like the sound of your own voice, don't you?"

The first man laughs softly, reaching out and pushing his cohort against the wall, too hard for it to be a joke.

"Just get the plan ready for Hunt and that bitch of his to fall into, and keep your bloody coppers off my tail until I'm done."

_YOUR bloody coppers..._

Alex frowns at the wall, opening her mouth to whisper something to Gene.

The whisper never leaves her mouth.

* * *

A/N: Ooh, what a lovely cliffhanger xD Sorry! Please remember to review, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Jazzola :)


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Well, just come back from a Russell Howard gig in Birmingham (it was awesome!) and decided to update this one. Please review, as this fic seems to be less in demand than ever right now... I'm enjoying writing it, but some encouragement would be nice! I have a new Russell Howard T-shirt, as well. I know that was random, but it's awesome. Jazzola :)

* * *

"Well, well. Look who we have here. Detective Chief Inspector Gene Hunt, Detective Inspector Alexandra Drake."

The usage of their full titles and the soft, dangerous voice they are said in makes Alex's skin crawl as she feels cold hands on her shoulders, pressing her against the wall. She can see Gene struggling against the figure holding him beside her, hears his yelp of pain as the man knees him dangerously close to the gunshot wound and pushes him to the ground. This time he doesn't resist, simply sits there, his head bowed.

Alex, gritting her teeth and her nerves, looks up and stares into the face of the man holding her.

Her stomach crashes.

DCI Alan Hopwell is stood there, his mouth a stern, straight line, his podgy paws firm on her body and his bulky frame boxing her in. An unknown man is pressing a gun to Gene's temple, bending slightly and beginning to hiss to him in a low voice, avoiding Alex hearing anything. Gene gasps, his head jerking up, struggling once again to free himself as the hands push him back, deliberately knocking his head hard against the wall. He hisses with pain, his hands instinctively travelling to his wound, protecting it from any damage as the man moves back and turns to Hopwell.

"We'll have to do it now. But I can't shoot him in the same spot again. I need you to do it."

Hopwell nods grimly, taking the gun with fingers that shook too little for Alex to tell whether he was going through with it or not. Gene presses himself further into the corner, a child trying to get away from the monster under the bed.

Hopwell's eyes glitter as he cocks the gun.

Alex makes a desperate grab for the torch in the stranger's hand, her face screwed up in concentration as they begin to fight for it, both men swearing at each other for letting her get free for that crucial second. She feels strong hands around her neck and begins to choke; her daughter's face swims in her mind, smothered as the hands suddenly withdraw and find their way south to her belt buckle, scrabbling in their eagerness. She kicks out wildly with both legs, only just registering Gene's cry of "Bolls!" as Hopwell trains the gun on him. For a second she tries to reach out to him, feeling his fingers brush against hers and grabbing at them, desperate to feel him.

Everything stops as a gunshot is fired.

* * *

Stars pop in front of Annie's eyes as she wakes up, an explosion resounding somewhere around her. A gunshot? She's too woozy to tell, and simply pushes herself up and begins to look around.

_Handbag gone. No light. Defenceless. Where's Gene? Alex? Sammy? Either Sam..._

She drops to her knees again, beginning to sob, wrapping her arms round herself.

_No. Sam would tell yer ter be strong, and ter keep going and get yerrself out of 'ere._

_But what happens when I get out of 'ere? Will it be safe?_

_Yer'll only know that once yer've done it, won't yer?_

She begins scrabbling round again, searching desperately for a doorway, any objects on the floor or walls, anything that could give her light or a way out. Her fingers find the corpse of a dead spider lying awkwardly next to a discarded torch.

The room flickers into sight as light floods its grimy corners, revealing a small, concrete room with a single opening, a cat-flap-style door halfway up the wall and locked with a plank of wood holding it in place. She is not meant to get out of here, but by God she's determined to.

She stands up, using the walls to gradually get herself up. Her head feels like it's filled with cotton wool, probably from whatever sent her to sleep in the first place, but as she wakes up a little more it clears; memories from those final few moments begin to flood back.

DCI Hopwell is a traitor. He is meeting a man called Joe, who was the one who tried to kill Gene and almost succeeded, and is organising for him to die and for Litton to take the blame. Annie's blood seethes with her sudden hatred for the man. Gene and Alex will know she's gone, they'll probably be looking for her. For a brief second she wonders if Alex has allowed Gene to have a real part in the search or has told him to stay in the hospital, and hopes that he hasn't left the safety of the ward. She remembers her son and her heart twinges with pain. She has to get out of here for her little boy.

Drawing on every last ounce of strength, she yanks at the wood, feeling splinters sliding into her fingers and gritting her teeth as blood runs down both her hands, pooling briefly in her palms. A memory flickers through her head of Gene's hands stained with scarlet as Alex cradles him beside the blood-painted Quattro, watching his eyes flickering closed as a tiny smile graces his mouth, Alex's tears dribbling down her cheeks and onto his chest.

_No. Don' think o' that now._

The wood loosens its grip on the flap slightly; she gives a grin of triumph, twisting it harder, her face now screwed up in concentration as she ignores the pain from her shredded hands. Nothing matters but the wood.

Nothing matters but getting the wood out...

_Gene and Alex need yer. Sam needs yer. And yer need them. Come on, Annie!_

_I can't... it won't come out..._

_Don't talk such rubbish. O' course it will. Yer just 'ave ter pull 'ard enough. It's gettin' looser each time yer pull it. Slide it in, out, in out..._

_A little bit further. But it's so long, yer'll never get it out..._

_It's not long enough ter keep yer 'ere when they need yer, is it? No way. Keep going, Annie, keep going!_

The wood is slippery with sweat and blood. Annie grits her teeth, clenching her whole head against the headache she can feel pounding against her skull. Someone screams somewhere. She gives a little gasp, pulling harder, feeling the wood straining to be out of its prison, to be free.

With a crackle of splintered timber, the plank comes out, taking Annie with it and throwing her backwards to stumble against the far wall, slightly dazed and still clutching the wood as though her life depended on it.

It takes a second for Annie to compute that she is now free; she drops the wood, leaping up at the flap in front of her, pushing it ferociously out of the way and clambering up, wincing as it collides with her head on the way back down. The marching band in her brain protests against the rough treatment as she hauls herself out, but finally she is free.

Turning the torch on and beginning to run down the nearest tunnel in what she hopes is the right direction- towards the scream and the bang- Annie crosses her bloody fingers and whispers a prayer to Sam inside her head.

* * *

Sam sits on a small chair, his feet tucked underneath him, staring out of the window into the car park as doctors buzz round and a nurse hovers in the background, watching him with an eagle's eye. There has been no news of Annie, Alex or Gene, and Sam has to fight the tears that spring up in his young eyes as another faceless white coat wanders in and hands him a biscuit, a orange juice, a toy.

None of the toys hold his attention. The biscuit tastes of cardboard. The orange juice stings his mouth. All he wants is his mother.

A call has been put out for DI Annie Cartwright, DI Alex Drake and DCI Gene Hunt to be found and brought to the hospital immediately. Every police radio is being used to try and find them; each department in this area of Manchester, each and every plod and plonk and DC and DS and DI, is out looking for the trio. Someone has been sent with photographs to the BBC News building in London, for a call on the news.

Sam sits in the middle and chews on his lip, clutching Gene's warrant card.

* * *

It is all quiet in Fenchurch East CID when the call comes through that DCI Gene Hunt and DI Alex Drake are mysteriously missing and that all units in Manchester are on the lookout for them. Ray and Chris are all for going to the Super and asking his permission to travel to Manchester immediately, but are beaten to it by Shaz, who all but sprints up to his office before anyone else can really react to the news.

Ray pulls out in an old Ford that DI Drake frequently borrows from the station, packed to the rafters with the good, bad and ugly of CID. Shaz is quiet in the back, frowning out at the world through dusty windows, thinking hard about the little she knows about the cases; Ray and Chris are remembering Manchester, the places Gene and Alex could be. So far, nobody has said anything about DI Tyler, but both are thinking of her.

As they reach the motorway, Chris remembers a tunnel that Gene spoke of once, somewhere someone could go if they wanted to keep out of trouble or get out of it. Behind Sam's record shop, he said. The little overgrown alleyway behind it. He dismisses it. Gene would have no reason to go there; besides, he should be in hospital, and although they all know that Gene hates hospital and gets out as soon as he can, they also know that he is sensible enough to stay there if there's something really wrong.

Nobody can think as the enormity of the situation punches them in the faces; Gene and Alex, the unbreakable duo of Fenchurch East, have vanished.

Ray grinds the gears ferociously and pummels the steering wheel, kicking a panel out from under the dashboard with his feet.

Nobody else says anything.

* * *

Annie's hair swings wildly as she runs towards the light she can see somewhere in front of her, peeking through an open doorway. Light must mean safety, her brain insists. And the scream was a woman. Not a male voice.

She grabs the wall to pull herself round to see inside the room.

A figure is lying against one of the walls, blood soaking from its head; she can't tell whether it is male or female. She slowly makes her way forwards. Her foot stumbles on a gun, warm, recently used.

She looks into the blank face of the figure.

Tears rise in her eyes.

* * *

A/N: You don't find out who it is until the next chapter, sorry! Hope you enjoyed it, sorry it's a bit short, and please remember to review! Jazzola :)


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: The final chapter of Dystopia, in which all is revealed... please remember to review and such as this is the last time I'll write for this fic, which I've grown quite fond of! May I also recommend Mad Dogs, currently showing on Sky 1, featuring the lovely Phil Glenister, John Simm and Marc Warren, all from Life on Mars. Happy reading, please tell me what you think! Jazzola :)

* * *

Annie drops to her knees beside the corpse, her eyes wide as she turns to see who else is kneeling beside it. Gene's head is bowed, his face hidden as he checks for a pulse on the body. Alex is grasping his free hand and watching the man tucking a gun under his jacket in the corner.

Annie's eyes find the figure sliding the gun she has just tripped over easing it out of sight, and as she shines the torch on him she recognises her own DCI.

Who appears to have just shot the man he was in league with.

_What's goin' on?_

Her brain leaps to a conclusion and she jumps up, grabbing Gene's arm and pulling him away from Hopwell, shielding him with her own body as Alex stands to find out what's going on and Hopwell stares, bemused.

"Yer not shootin' 'im! Yer'll 'ave ter get past me first!"

The tremor in her voice is not entirely hidden. Gene reaches forwards to gently ease her out of the way.

"Annie, it's OK. 'E defended us."

"So that 'e could be the one ter shoot yer!"

Hopwell sighs theatrically, taking the gun out of his jacket and laying it on the floor at Annie's feet. She doesn't break eye contact with him, silently daring him to speak, to explain himself.

"Annie. I was picking the gun up so that nobody else tripped over it, like you did. I'm not about to shoot Gene."

Annie stoops to pick it up, cradling it in her fingers as though it was a jewel, turning it over and then dropping it onto the floor and turning to bury her head in Gene's chest, sobbing, clutching at his lapels as his arms wind round her, staying firmly on her back, rubbing soothing circles over the creased fabric of her jacket. There is nothing sexual about the cuddle, it is simply two old friends giving each other comfort where it is needed, and after a minute Annie reaches out to grab Alex's arm and pull her into a group hug. Hopwell watches, unable to take in what has happened still but a smile on his face as he watches the lives he has saved.

Eventually Annie breaks away, tears in her eyes as she reaches down to gently check Gene's stomach; he winces, drawing back and stepping on Alex's toe, much to Hopwell's amusement. All present suspect there is a hint of hysteria in his chortles.

"I think we all need ter get ter the 'ospital," Annie says gently, motioning to Alex's rumpled clothing from her rough treatment and Gene's bandage. "I need ter see my son."

"'E's safe," Gene says gently, easing Annie's chin up to look straight into her eyes, giving her cheek a little stroke. "We told 'im ter stay in the 'ospital room."

"I'm more worried about yer," Annie tells him quietly. "Yer should still be on a drip."

He shrugs.

"Was more useful 'ere, eh?"

Annie shakes her head.

"Yer incorrigible."

"I've told him a million times before and he still hasn't changed," Alex laughs, breaking the tension in the room completely, reaching out to a shell-shocked Hopwell with one hand and putting her other on Gene's shoulder. "I think someone should radio CID, he's got the radio."

She motions vaguely to the blood-spattered corpse on the floor. Hopwell wrinkles his nose.

"Maybe we'll just walk out into the square. Someone'll see us; the record shop might have a telephone."

All nod in silent agreement, unable to keep their eyes from sliding to the cadaver in front of them one more time before turning their backs on it for good.

Joe Hopwell's lifeless eyes stare soullessly after them as they leave.

* * *

"MAMMY!"

Annie cries out with delight as her son runs into her arms, scooping him up to rest his head on her shoulder, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he hugs her neck hard, squeezing his eyes shut so as not to cry and disgrace himself in front of Uncle Gene, who is being pulled in the direction of the hospital bed by one of the nurses and is trying to refuse. Alex is laughing at the whole scene and Hopwell is standing by the door, a spare part, trying not to seem too awkward.

Annie directs Sam to her DCI, reaching out to put her own hand on Hopwell's shoulder as he looks straight at Sam, attempting a smile that doesn't come.

"Sammy, this man saved all our lives, an' 'e'll save one more when 'e gets back ter the station. Derek Litton was innocent, it was a man called Joe 'oo did all those bad things an' then made people say it was Litton."

"Joe hypnotised Litton to make him sleepwalk that night," Hopwell says quietly; Gene and Alex catch Litton's name and break off from their own conversation, Gene half in and half out of his suit jacket.

"He made him think he was dreaming what he was actually seeing- yes, he shot Gene, but he was under the control of someone else completely. And then it was Joe who shot Gene in the car park of the station- after threatening me, since he knew I was his brother and reckoned he had me under his control. I was meant to organise for everything to be kept hush-hush and for the bodies and such to be disposed of, lives that were ruined to be forgotten. But I couldn't do that to my old friend and a fellow police officer."

Gene looks down as Hopwell slowly continues.

"I know I'll be investigated for shooting Joe, though. I'll probably be sacked for it."

Annie shakes her head forcefully; Gene abandons his jacket and walks over, stationing himself straight in front of Hopwell.

"What yer did saved all of our lives, Alan. Fire an 'ero? They'd 'ave ter be mad. If it's needed, we can do some fiddlin' wi' the paperwork, a little tinkerin' 'ere an' there. I'm not lettin' yer be punished fer 'elpin' us."

Hopwell smiles his first real smile, pulling Gene into a careful hug so that he doesn't see the tears nestling in the corners of his eyes.

* * *

"She's just over here."

Gene watches from a distance as Derek Litton walks a free man once again, leaning on the Quattro as Alan Hopwell walks down the steps with the ex-DCI. Litton looks years younger than the desperate beast festering in the cells, the creature Gene saw last; his hair is freshly washed, a new spring in his step and his skin glowing as brightly as his eyes.

As he watches, a car door opens and a woman gets out of it, leaving the door open behind her, running straight to Litton and throwing her arms round him, sobbing into his shoulder, letting his tears fall on the crown of her head. Hopwell closes the car door quietly behind them, catching Gene's eye and motioning with his head for him to turn around as Alex's hand lands on his shoulder.

"How're we feeling?" she asks softly, her hand retreating south to smooth itself in circles over the small of his back. Gene resists a little shudder of pleasure.

"I've put 'em back together, Bolls. Litton an' 'is wife. They've been torn apart fer ten years. Feels... good."

"I should hope so, too. You nearly had your brains blown out, three times."

"Ah, well, that's where yer wrong, Bolls."

Alex cocks her head on one side, frowning slightly.

"The logic behind that is?"

Gene takes a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it but letting it go out as he sees Alex's frown.

"I was talkin' wi' Alan about it. Joe was in the Falklands, 'e saw a man's brains blown out just before 'e was shot 'imself, meant that 'e couldn' bear ter shoot anyone in the 'ead afterwards. So 'e aimed fer the stomach ter try an' get the same effect."

Alex smiles.

"Psychology."

Gene shrugs, taking another cigarette out and lighting it, ignoring Alex's half-hearted protests. Another car draws up next to the Quattro and Ray pokes his head out of the driver's side, Chris poking himself in the eye with a kebab stick thanks to the abrupt stop.

"Yer comin', Guv? Long drive back ter London," he calls, shifting the Renault into gear and giving it a little rev. Gene shakes his head.

"Yer go on ahead, Raymondo. I've got some business ter sort out 'ere first."

Just as he says it, the "business" arrives, holding her young son in her arms and once again carrying her trademark handbag, her whole body alight as she walks over and dumps Sam into Gene's arms, a great tactic to force Gene to drop his cigarette.

"Damn women," he mutters as Alex and Annie giggle next to him and Sam winds his arms round his neck, asking for a piggyback. As much as he resents being compared to a piggy, Gene willingly gives it, hoisting the boy up and bouncing him slightly as he whoops, grinning at his new viewpoint and blissfully unaware of Gene's winces at having his hair pulled with sticky hands.

"Look, Gene, Alex, I... well, I was thinkin', Sammy an' I, that yer mean a lot ter 'im an' me, an'... well, I'll spit it out. I know it's somethin' Sam would agree with. D'yer want ter be godparents ter Sam?"

Alex squeals her acceptance, hugging Annie and pulling Sam off her partner's shoulders, much to his relief, for a cuddle. Gene winds his arms round both of them and pulls Annie in, his actions saying more than a thousand words could, the group hug the perfect backdrop for the Littons driving off, reunited.

* * *

Watching on a screen far, far away, a slim built man with short brown hair and a dark leather jacket wipes a tear from his eye, a smile plastered over his face.

"Thank yer. All o' yer," he whispers, reaching out to gently touch the screen, seeing Gene frowning, turning slightly as though he senses something. The man chuckles slightly, bowing his head as Gene shakes his, dismissing it and turning back to his new godson.

A figure comes up behind him in the dark pub, matted hair swinging gently in time with his step; the man half-turns, nodding.

"A single malt fer me, please, Nelson."

"Comin' right up, mon brav."

* * *

_Mummy,_

_I miss you. But I know you're not lonely. I'm not either. I've got people who care about me here, people I love. I've dreamed about Gene, and about Shaz and Chris and Ray, and Annie and Sam, both Sams. I know you're surrounded by people who love you, and that's all I could ever want for you._

_I'll keep dreaming about you, Mummy. Sleep well._


End file.
